


Shipwreck

by Naemi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hurt, M/M, Prompt Fic, angsty, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing about it is expected, and some of it is utterly wrong, yet there is comfort in it, as weird as it may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shipwreck

 

Even with the boozy fog in and around Tim's mind, it is admittedly odd to find himself leaning against the wooden skeleton of a boat. The fingers of his left hand trail along the carpentry and his eyes follow, his head lowered to produce a different angle. _This is beautiful,_ he thinks, amazed. The texture underneath his touch is rough and natural, but he can tell the parts where sandpaper was used, and it makes his fingertips tickle slightly.

“McGee. You sure you're comfortable?”

The bourbon-slurred voice hardly breaks in on Tim's thoughts, yet he manages a tiny nod. He is still caught in the alluring simplicity of handmade beauty, lost in a way that, were he sober, wouldn't seem possible. But as it is, he doesn't even flinch when the warm presence of another person enters his aura, nor when strong hands grab his hips or a lean body presses against his back. He does not appear to react to hot breath on his skin; other than making a tiny purr deep in his throat, there is no sign at all of him even realizing what is going on around him.

“It's beautiful,” Tim voices the only thought that keeps floating in his mind. “Boss, how d'you . . .”

“Shh.” The sound is not much more than another breath, but it's so close to Tim's ear that he can't help a little shiver, and it finally dawns on him that he's here for a special reason. He turns his head to focus his gaze on the man behind him, feeling way too sober for this all of a sudden. Tim opens his mouth to state his insecurity, but Gibbs cups his chin, his touch unexpectedly soft, and takes his words right from his lips before they form.

Breathless, Tim closes his eyes. Despite the alcohol, arousal hits him full-force, and he is startled at how painfully hard he is. It occurs to him that this is nonsense, that this reaction to a simple kiss is impossible and the friction of a body against his back could never get him anywhere near rock solid in a heartbeat, which makes it even worse. He cracks his eyes open again, realizes he is no longer facing the boat, and in a corner of his mind he knows he is having blackouts—but there are hands stroking him, and hips pinning him down hard, and how the fuck did he end up flat on his back? A displeased whimper forms deep in his throat, catching Gibbs' attention.

The hands still, the body contact lessens, and the cool air of the room lies down on Tim's skin, making him whimper again when he understands that he is fully naked. Worry rises, not so much about what is going on, because he is weirdly fine with it, but about what he misses in between his clear moments.

“You okay?”

“I'm . . . drunk,” Tim replies, and the obviousness makes him snort and snicker. The sound vibrates through him, gets captured in a fingertip on his lips, and—fuck this—when he sucks it in, he sincerely hopes the next time he opens his eyes there won't be any unpleasant surprises.

Tim keeps drifting on and off, in and out of deliberate taking actions and helpless compliance to Gibbs' lead, but it feels all right to let go; he feels safe, and then, _holymothermary,_ the thrill of ecstasy rushes through him. Gibbs' mouth travels along his chest, back up to steal a kiss, and the liquid warmth of alcohol, himself and boundless trust evokes a heavy longing that knows neither name nor cure.

“Last chance out,” Gibbs says huskily. “I really want this, but if you're uncomfortable—”

Tim cuts him short with a shake of the head. He doesn't quite grasp what _this_ is, but he doesn't care much, either. All he wants is for his sweet little bubble of bliss to stay intact, and he's fine with whatever it takes to accomplish that.

“I really need you to say it.”

“I want it.” The words come out without hesitation.

“Okay. Turn around, will you?”

“On it, boss,” Tim replies out of habit, and he feels instantly stupid about it. He grimaces, but Gibbs meets it with a grin, and so he grins back best he can, feeling heat flush his cheeks.

“Today if you please, McGee?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” The heat in his body increases, but Tim complies, happy he can hide his face from Gibbs' eyes as he rolls over and, under the guidance of hands on his hips, props himself up on all fours.

“You're really cute like that.”

Tim purrs at the words and the kiss that's planted on his neck, right below the hairline, and for another short while, he loses all coherence to sweet fingers and fiery lips.

The bourbon clouds of serenity clear up instantly, though, when a mind-twisting pain winds up his spine, taking his breath away. Tim's eyes fly open, confusion as a cry on his lips. He succeeds in transforming it into a squeak, but the tears still burn him, even more so when he realizes that this is what it all was about—and he's not exactly been down that road before, nor had he planned to travel there anytime too soon.

“Gotta relax.”

Tim doesn't think he can; he is positive that this is utterly wrong as a whole. His inability to breathe doesn't calm him of course, but the hand on his sweaty forehead, tenderly brushing aside a strand of hair is _a little_ helpful, and he manages to keep himself steady, even though he's afraid he will crash down any moment.

“Okay. It's okay,” Gibbs keeps repeating, and it feels a lot like ridicule, but then he brings his mouth close to Tim's ear and whispers, “You're so beautiful, Tim,” and it sounds so sincere that his heart starts to flutter wildly.

The pain isn't fading, and no, he doesn't feel comfortable at all, but there's so much appreciation in Gibbs' voice; Tim is willing to commit a murder to keep it coming. He tries hard to block out every inflaming thrust, narrows his reality down to the praise he receives, even though he knows that come afterwards, his life will lay in ruins, reigned over by infinite shame. Tim has always hungered for fatherly love, and it doesn't matter that the only father figure he ever looked up to is reduced to a mixture of panting, sweat and sweet nothings, pounding into him hard, causing more pain than he has ever experienced.

In a bizarre, obscene, _wrong_ way, he still feels loved.

When all of this clicks in, he suddenly manages to relax. He's not exactly adjusting physically, but his emotions and feelings bend and warp with every thrust until his mind is all still. The tears run down his cheeks, his throat keeps producing little agonized sounds, but Tim doesn't notice any of this. The soreness of his flesh fades in the face of the lightness of heart.

He reaches out for the boat-to-be in front of him, stretching his arm as far as he can, and when his fingers succeed to brush over the rough texture, he feels complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **Porn Battle XIV**. Prompts: Jethro Gibbs/Timothy McGee; drinking, pain, control, unknown.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **HoneyAndVinegar** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
